Remembering Lindsey

Thursday

May 31, 2012 at 2:00 AMJun 1, 2012 at 7:59 AM

"What's your pleasure?"If you sat at a table or the bar at Pepperland Cafe that's the question you'd hear from Lindsey Altshul. Not "What'll it be" or "Can I get you something to drink," but a question about what will make you happy, right at that moment and then during the entire time you had the honor of being in a place that holds comfort and welcoming hospitality.

Rachel Forrest

"What's your pleasure?"

If you sat at a table or the bar at Pepperland Cafe that's the question you'd hear from Lindsey Altshul. Not "What'll it be" or "Can I get you something to drink," but a question about what will make you happy, right at that moment and then during the entire time you had the honor of being in a place that holds comfort and welcoming hospitality.

JT Thompson, one of Lindsey's good friends, reminded me of that sentence, one I've heard so many times since I met Lindsey in 2005 but really didn't think about then-- it just made me feel good to be at his restaurant or to talk with him at any one of the other haunts we might happen to be sitting at the bar in at the same time — The Press Room, The Barley Pub, The Portsmouth Brewery.

This past week, since learning of Lindsey's death on Tuesday, May 21, there have been many reminders of who Lindsey was and the lasting impact he's had on our larger community. And while Lindsey was a part of many smaller communities in the Venn diagram that might show all the overlapping commonalities Seacoast residents share — for him, music, the Land Trust and food and drink — it's in the context of the food and drink and restaurant world that I knew him.

My first restaurant review of Pepperland was back in 2005. I had written a business story before that to introduce the new restaurant — one of those "who are these people and what are they up to" sort of pieces — and then reviewed the restaurant again in 2008 when Kevin Hahn took over as executive chef. By then I knew Lindsey much better and knew much more about beer, but as one person told me this past week, Lindsey forgot more about beer than any of us will ever know in a lifetime.

My final paragraph in that 2008 review said, "Lindsey is right there to welcome guests and help decisions, to entice and introduce new ideas and revel in the old, offering the family touch we need now. Comfort. Gotta have it."

Pepperland Cafe raised the bar for Seacoast restaurants both in terms of its more adventurous and crafted dishes than we'd seen before and for the personal touch Lindsey brought to every diner's experience. After 2005, a real restaurant revolution began and Pepperland was an early part of that, an example for everyone.

And comfort is what everyone in the restaurant community is giving each other now. I'm sure it's going on in the other Venn diagram spheres of Lindsey's life differently but we're all meeting each other — online and at his memorial service this past Saturday when 500 people, maybe more, came to remember Lindsey. There were impromptu gatherings at the places he went to — at The Press Room or the Black Birch where he became an adviser and mentor. As Birch co-owner Ben Lord said, "He was a great man all around. Lindsey was warm, gentle and generous. He was an excellent teacher, totally without pretense." All over the Seacoast, at The Barley Pub, Pepperland, The Press Room, friends folded Origami cranes, something he did each Christmas. Those cranes decorated South Church on Saturday, each one a made by someone who loves him. I've never seen anything like this community. His friends are raising glasses of the best beer they can find. And they are telling stories. Many, many stories. We are hugging each other, close. I'm sharing only a few stories here, but will close with this:

I was always excited to talk with Lindsey at whatever bar we ran into each other or whatever event we were hanging out at (or taking a breather from), because he was one of the most interesting, intelligent men I've ever met. We could talk about anything at a level that was so rare — about food, beer, life, society — anything. He was gentle and kind, generous and soft-spoken, wise and funny. I miss him terribly.

What's my pleasure? Knowing Lindsey Altshul for the past seven years and being part of a community that loved him, one that will be able to experience all he's done for this community — his lasting legacy of grace, caring, great food and drink and hospitality--for many years to come.

— Rachel Forrest

And now, some more stories:

I don't even know how long ago it was that I met Lindsey Altshul, but I can remember the last beer he bought me. It was my birthday this past December, too long ago now. I was just talking about him the other day, telling the story of how he used to bartend and fold 1,000 cranes before Christmas behind the bar at the Barley Pub. He loved malt, he loved hops, he loved the feel of creased paper under his fingertips, he embodied fellowship and created welcome. He had a time taker's way about him. I think he kept prose in his beard. I know he kept stories in his pockets, shared the best of them. Some may think they know him from his fantastic restaurant, but it goes further back than that. He was a kindred, an old soul, and I'll miss Lindsey Altshul. Somethin' fierce.

Like so many of us my connection with Lindsey began when the Barley Pub opened 12 years ago. About six years ago in the summer of 2006 I went back to work, about seven weeks after my daughter was born, at the pub. One of the first nights back was an unexpectedly busy Sunday night, and I was all by my lonesome trying to hold it together. No other employees were around that night. At a certain point Lindsey showed up and took a look at me and asked me if I needed a break to go downstairs for something. I looked down and realized that I desperately needed to pump milk for my newborn daughter. He had "realized" it as well. He was a godsend that night as he always was. He saved the day and stuck around the rest of the night clearing glasses and washing them for me as needed. Once you were part of this group of misfits that congregated together you always were a part of it. This news has touched all of our friends across the country who are part of it. He always will stand out in our memories of the times we have spent together. We will eat great food, drink great beverages, listen to good music, and think of him always.

He took eating and drinking locally to a level unheard of. He went and patronized everywhere, regardless of quality. I mean, he was the Patron Saint of Eating Local without being self-righteous or proud. He would recommend a place, I'd go and hate it, but he always found a positive aspect that I overlooked. My heart is truly aching at our loss.

One fine Sunday afternoon, a few years ago, I took my son Connor with me to Pepperland for a late brunch. We sat at the tall table by the bar. I ordered a simple meal of eggs and beans with sausage and toast, Connor ordered a waffle. As we sat there eating our meal, Lindsey came by our table and asked how everything was. I replied that everything was great. Lindsey stepped away from the table, but then Connor spoke and said "I don't like...". Lindsey spun back around, stepped back to our table. Flabbergasted and stuttering he repeated what Connor had just said. "You..you..d-d-.don't like it?!?" Connor turned to face him, smiled and said... "No, I LOVE IT!". Lindsey head dropped and he put his hand to his head, desperately trying to regain his composure, as I roared with laughter.

In June 2009, we opened to the public for the first time. Not knowing how our wine would fare on the market, we hosted a free tasting event with a limited number of tickets available. We invited a few local business folks, mostly our friends and family came. But also, Lindsey ... Lindsey was one of the first people in the door that day — a hot, humid June afternoon. He tasted each of three wines, our first on the market, and said one simple word: "delicious," and bought several cases right on the spot. Most people know Lindsey has an incredible knowledge of beer, but he was our very first restaurant customer. He continued to buy our wine and serve it at his restaurant with every new release.

I would be remiss in this eulogy if I didn't say more about food. And beer. And booze. And music. Lindsey was so far ahead of us! Without him, forget having the Black Birch around, the Barley Pub would probably still be serving Newcastle (sorry Scott,) slow food would just take a long time, and we'd be tired of Rachel Forrest's reviews of clam chowder (sorry Rachel.) Jesting aside, Lindsey took great pride, and much joy from what he ate and drank. He appreciated things that were done well, be it pig brain and a Brother Thelonious to a Gilley's cheeseburger with the works. He brought that appreciation to the food he served at Pepperland, and to all the establishments he enjoyed visiting. Thank you, Lindsey. We are all eating better because of you.

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